


Pinky Swear

by Setkia



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Body Dysphoria, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Insecure Oikawa Tooru, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Safe Sane and Consensual, mentions of switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 11:03:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15629367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setkia/pseuds/Setkia
Summary: “I think we should get married.”Tōru watches in fascination as Hajime chokes on his water and doubles over, trying to catch his breath. “What?”





	1. Pinky Swear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this all of the stories from my _Pinky Swear_ series in one spot!

They're eight when they make the promise. It's a normal day of bug-catching and volleyball playing when they stop to take a water break and it comes up.

“You know what?”

“What?”

“Aren't you gonna guess?”

“It'll save us both time and effort if we just admit right now I'm not a mind reader and you should just tell me what you're thinking.”

Tōru pouts. “Buzzkill.” Hajime rolls his eyes, but ti doesnt’ take long before he’s grinning widely. “I think we should get married.”

Tōru watches in fascination as Hajime chokes on his water and doubles over, trying to catch his breath. “ _What_?”

“Well, Nee-chan has a boyfriend, and everyone thinks they'll be getting married and if I'm gonna marry anyone, I want it to be you."

“But we're both guys.”

“Does that matter?”

Hajime blinks. “I ... I think it does.”

“It shouldn't,” says Tōru.

“What if I don't want to marry you?”

Tōru freezes for a moment. This thought never occurred to him. “Then ... We don't get married.” He tries not to sound disappointed, when the solution comes to him. “Ooh! I know! What about if we're single by the time we're thirty-five, we get married?”

Hajime looks at Tōru, tilting his head. He came to find bugs and practice serves, maybe look for some spaceships, not to make wedding plans. But he knows from the expectant look in Tōru's eyes no is not an option. “Okay, sure. If we're not in a relationship by the time we're thirty-five, we'll get married to each other.“

They pinky-swear it, so it's basically written in stone now.

Tōru can't wait to grow up.

 

  
When they're fourteen, it dawns on Tōru that maybe it’s a bit weird that he and Iwa-chan (he's not allowed to call him Hajime anymore, they're “too old for that” and Tōru hates it.) plan to get married when they grow up.

It’s also the first year they’re not in the same class. A lot of girls approach him, for some reason.

“Um, Oikawa-kun, I ... towards you, I ...”

Tōru tilts his head to the side slightly as he waits for her to finish. He feels a bit bad that he can’t remember her name, but he has to keep up his schoolwork and remember plays so you can hardly blame him. Even if she’s been in his class for the past five years. Iwa-chan is the only person whose name is important anyway.

“I like you, Oikawa-kun!”

Tōru stares at her. Her cheeks are so red, he can see them even as she bows. She’s clearly nervous.

“Um…” Tōru doesn't know what he's supposed to say. Is there a right way to respond? Is there a _wrong_ way to respond?

“Oi, Asskawa!”

Since changing to last names, Iwa-chan has given him numerous mean titles—just another thing he hates about this whole predicament— but he still jerks to attention when he hears his best friend's voice. Iwa-chan is so lucky, his voice never cracks while everyone else bumbles through puberty. Even Tōru's gives out sometimes.

“I have to go,” says Tōru, flashing her a polite smile. He barely sees her expression drop as he runs to catch up with Iwa-chan.

“What did she want?”

“She said she liked me,” says Tōru with a shrug.

“Eh?”

“Yeah, I didn't really get it either.”

“Of course she likes you,” says Iwa-chan rolling his eyes.

That catches Tōru's attention.

“What do you mean of course?”

“You're warped but you've got a pretty face.” Ah. Tōru supposes Iwa-chan isn't that lucky after all. His voice just cracked.

“Does Iwa-chan like my face?”

“Shut up, Trashkawa.”

Tōru tries not to think too much about the disappointment in his stomach.

 

  
When they're applying to high schools, Tōru wants to go wherever Iwa-chan goes. Something tells him that despite the small distance between their houses, if they go their separate ways for high school, he won’t be as close to Iwa-chan as he is now.

“Where are you going?”

“I applied to a couple of places,” says Iwa-chan. “I think I'll probably get my second choice though, not sure if they'll let me into Shiratorizawa with my grades.”

Iwa-chan is smart. Tōru knows he is; he and Tōru are always in the classes for the smart kids. How high are Shiratorizawa’s standards?

To be honest, Tōru's applied to Shiratorizawa as well and he thinks he might actually get in, but if Iwa-chan doesn't, he's not going there either.

“Nee-chan is thinking of getting married,” says Tōru changing the topic.

He doesn't like thinking about leaving school and moving ahead. Not because he has to leave any special _kouhai_ behind, (he's _glad_ he won't have to see Tobio-chan’s face anymore) but because he’s so uncertain about where he'll be headed. His whole future rests in Iwa-chan's hands and he doesn't think he knows.

“Hmm?”

“Are we still on for that promise?”

Tōru’s heart stops beating in the moment Iwa-chan takes to think about it, to remember it, because it’s all Tōru can think about most days (besides volleyball) and he can’t stand the hesitation obvious in his best friend’s voice when he replies.

“Yeah, we're still on.”

Tōru wishes the aliens would give him a time machine so he can marry Iwa-chan already.

 

  
When they lose to Karasuno in the practice match, it occurs to Tōru that he loves Iwaizumi Hajime.

He’s practicing his serves against the wall, watching them bounce off, the sound echoing around the empty room. He’s emptied the basket at least twice and his knee is begging him to stop, but he _can’t_.

He can't be beaten by a _kouhai_ , by a prodigy, by that _brat_. He won't let it happen.

He spots Iwa-chan in the middle of his jump and nearly loses his footing. The ball hits the ground, untouched by his palm, his legs nearly giving out on him. The soft thud sounds so final, it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. The ball rolls to Iwa-chan’s feet, who picks it up and sends it over to Tōru who tosses it back and watches as Iwa-chan jumps, graceful and perfect, spiking the ball into the wall where ti collides forcefully before bouncing off.

Tōru isn’t sure how long it is that they go on like this, practicing in silence. The light shining in from the windows gets dimmer and dimmer until it’s almost black. The benefit of being captain is he can lock up whenever he wants to.

There are no breaks, no time for hesitation.

They even figure out a new play they can use against those damn crows.

Flightless? Yeah right. Number five was _soaring_. Iwa-chan is more beautiful when he spikes though.

When Tōru's legs finally give out on him and he falls, Iwa-chan starts to collect the balls wordlessly.

Tōru wants to help, he really does, or, if not help, tease Iwa-chan for being such a good boy but his throat won't work.

He knows Tobio-chan is great, knows he's a prodigy. Even if their defence is full of holes, they’re an amazing team considering Seijoh wasn’t expecting anything from them. They’ll certainly be a formidable enemy. He can’t move. He’s numb.

"Why?" The word escapes the moment he finds his voice, sitting on the floor in an uncomfortable position that he’s sure Iwa-chan will yell at him for later. _It’s what you get for overworking yourself, Shittykawa_ , he can hear him say.

Iwa-chan doesn’t say anything like that. Instead, he says,

“Because you needed it.”

Tōru falls apart inside.

He’s quite an actor, ask anyone, but there’s one person he’s never been able to lie to, who he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to lie to.One person who’ll see through every façade, every fake smile, and every cheesy line and he’s staring him right in the eyes, unflinching, unchanging, unmoving.

He’s not leaving, not like the cool guys do in all the books and movies. He stays because Tōru needs him, needs him in a way Iwa-chan knows and Tōru is just starting to realize.

He can never pretend with Iwa-chan. He doesn’t want to.

“Wanna go again?”

He’s tired, obviously exhausted from the sweat beading from his forehead and he’s leaning on the basket of volleyballs, like he needs the support. Though the balls are all collected, it hasn’t been put away, like it’s ready to go again if Tōru will only say the word. If the captain says he wants to practice some more, Iwa-chan will give it a hundred fifty percent, even if he has to drag his energy dry body across the court because, like he said, Tōru needs it.

He opens his mouth.

_Be mine._

The words don't come out, clogged in his throat and he’s hit with an intense wave of emotion.

_Fear._

He's scared. He's afraid, more anxious than losing to Kageyama, more petrified than being a failure, more horrified than being kicked off the team, absolutely aching with pain and nerves at the thought of rejection.

“No, I'm all good now.”

Iwa-chan doesn't believe him.

Tōru can't decide whether he hates or loves (yes, _loves_ ) him for it.

 

  
It's during university that Tōru truly understands the saying “absence makes the heart grow fonder”.

He's sure everyone in his class has heard Iwa-chan's name more than any other word he’s ever said and soon he's catching himself, saying “my friend” instead. It doesn't matter. Everyone knows he's talking about Iwa-chan.

Someone asks him why he's still so close to him. After so many years of being right next to each other isn't going to separate universities like being liberated? Isn't he sick of him yet? What do they even talk about when they're side by side all the time?

Tōru's never thought of it that way. To be honest he doesn't understand what they're talking about.

What is there _not_ to talk about?

You don’t have to bother with the plain and boring conversations you do just for pleasantries when you know each other as long as Tōru and Iwa-chan have known each other. You talk about everything and nothing, get to the deep shit and then pretend it’s just a joke. You can say anything and everything, open yourself up entirely to them and watch them respond equally open. Aliens, bugs, volleyball, sometimes just silence is okay if he’s in the right company.

He sees Iwa-chan perhaps once a month if they're lucky and they usually just play volleyball.

They don't even talk about what they've done without each other, though he doesn’t know what he’d say if asked about it. Every moment without him passes like a blur, like he’s going through the motions of life without processing or feeling anything.

Iwa-chan gives no indication of missing Tōru as much as Tōru misses him.

The brunet wonders if he remembers their promise. Because if he doesn't, Tōru will remind him. And if Iwa-chan ever gets into a relationship with someone, Tōru already knows what he'll do, because he's selfish and even if Iwa-chan doesn't like him like that, he'll keep his promise because Iwa-chan never breaks a promise and Tōru will take advantage of that if he has to.

 

  
When Oikawa Tōru is nineteen, his whole world is destroyed by a single sentence.

“I got a girlfriend.”

Tōru hears the volleyball hit the ground, almost in slow motion and his hands fall to his sides helplessly. He asked Hajime (he's nearly twenty, he can call his friend whatever he wants so long as it never slips past his lips) what's been new as he's supposed to, to be polite and all, but something like this ... Tōru never expected this.

He knows Hajime is attractive. Not everyone's cup of tea with a wide forehead, tan skin and spiky hair, but he has mesmerizing eyes and his arms are so strong and maybe he's rough around the edges, but he's still so _kind,_ much kinder than anyone else thinks, just because he shows how he cares in weird ways.

He knows it was just a matter of time until someone asked him out, or he got a crush who would respond in kind. Tōru isn't completely innocent, he remembers that time he once had a girlfriend who broke up with him for being too obsessed with volleyball, but to be honest it's been a long time since he's thought of volleyball as a separate thing from Hajime and so maybe he's always been a little obsessed with his childhood best friend.

“Oh?” he says, picking up the ball. “Is she hot?” He thinks of those people who say it takes less muscles to smile than to frown. They don't know shit.

Hajime frowns. “You okay?”

“Yeah, why are you asking?”

_He knows._

“Don't lie to me, Shittykawa.”

“I just want to know who was crazy enough to go out with Iwa-chan,” he says. He prays Hajime won’t notice.

Hajime shrugs and that’s that, they’re back to acting like everything’s normal. And it hurts.

Because Tōru can pretend that the conversation never happened and Hajime is still his, but every time he gets too closed very time he lets himself slip and dream, he remembers Hajime’s got a girlfriend and it ruins everything.

Tōru is selfish. He’s a king, but Hajime isn’t his to claim as queen, or rather, king as well because he doesn’t like to think of Hajime as anything other than his equal. He can’t find it within himself to be selfish when it comes to Iwaizumi Hajime.

For his secret love, for his crush, for his ace, for his teammate, but most importantly, for his best friend who knows him better than anyone else in the world, he will be selfless.

Just this once.

 

  
It is hard to be selfless.

Tōru has come to realize that it's very hard to change overnight. The first step is to stop thinking about Hajime so much, but it’s very hard and it's not for lack of trying.

When you know someone since you first open your eyes, they tend to be in all your memories and it makes _not_ thinking about them impossible. Even things that Hajime has no part in remind him of his best friend because his only thought during is “he would love this” or “he would hate this” and it’s always “when can I tell him?”, because nothing has ever happened to Tōru until Hajime knows about it.

He can't even look at his nephew anymore.

Takeru is growing up to be a good boy, and Tōru likes teaching him but he reminds him of Hajime.

It's not for the reasons one might think. It's not because, like Hajime, Takeru was talked into volleyball by Tōru and eventually developed an affinity towards it. It's not even that he'll constantly ask how Zumi is doing (Iwaizumi is a long tongue-twister when he's four, but now that he's older the name's just stuck, kinda like Iwa-chan). It's what he represents.

A normal family. A child born of a mother, living a normal life.

Tōru knows that his parents expect him to get married one day to a nice girl and have a child or two. He’s sure that's what Hajime's parents expect of him too because it's a perfectly rational assumption for parents to make. A good wife, a nice job, wonderful children, what more could you want? Tōru can't offer such a thing. No matter what happens he can never compare to the curves of a woman. He may have a pretty face, he may be graceful and delicate looking at times, but ultimately he is male. His voice is deep, his shoulders are broad, his body is firm and his fingers are callused.

Takeru is everything Tōru can never give Hajime and everything Hajime deserves.

It hurts to look at him sometimes.

 

  
When he's in the middle of a lecture, he gets a piece of paper thrown at the back of his head. It says to go to the roof after class.

There's a girl standing across from him and Tōru realizes that many people have confessed to him and it’s only been a few months into the year.

The only variable? Hajime isn't here.

It occurs to him that the girls are intimidated by Hajime, the confessions were few in number in high school and only when he was alone.

He gives her a small smile but already knows his answer.

“I ... towards you, I ...”

Tōru holds up his hand, unshed tears in his eyes. He knows the setup, the scene and he knows his answer.

“Mei-chan—”

“I know you don't like me!”

Tōru is taken aback by the sudden change in routine.

“My friends think I'm crazy to confess to you, since you don't accept any of them. You like someone else, right?”

Is he that transparent? Has Hajime figured it out?

“It's Iwa-chan, isn't it?”

Tōru sucks in a deep breath, but he can't respond. His voice doesn't work.

“I'm okay with that,” says Mei. “She's a very lucky girl.”

_He's not a she._

Tōru doesn't bother to correct her.

“But Oikawa-kun ... I ... How long have you been waiting?”

“What?”

“How long have you been waiting for her?”

It’s none of her business, but he sucks in a breath and thinks because he’s never spoken about this before and it’s like an elephant’s been on his chest all these years. “Technically, it's only been two years, almost three. But ... I think it's really been eleven.”

Mei nods, like she understands. She doesn't know shit. “I don't care about that,” she says. “Even if it's just to humour me, even if it's pretend, only for a little while, I want Oikawa-kun to look at me the way he does when he speaks of Iwa-chan.”

Tōru's expression hardens and Mei looks taken aback. Ah yes, only his teammates have ever seen this face of his, and only Hajime is unafraid, undeterred. “No.”

“But—”

“Have more respect than that, Mei-chan,” he says. “Will you really settle for second best? Are you really okay with knowing you're only a distraction to me? Would you truly be satisfied, knowing that when I look at you, I'm really thinking of someone else?” He clenches his fists. “What you're proposing, it's worse. You think it's okay now but as time goes on, you're going to realize you can't stand it. It'll hurt more than anything you've ever done.

“All or nothing, that's what you should have, it's what you deserve, to have a taste but never be able to touch ...” Tōru can't hold in a shiver. “It's unbearable. Respect yourself more than that. Don't let yourself be used.”

“Oikawa-kun, are you being used?”

He lets out a laugh. It’s empty. “Can you call it being used when you offer?”

“That's exactly what I'm saying—”

“Look at me, Mei-chan,” says Tōru, holding her face in his hands. “Look at me. What do you see? Look into my eyes. Can you tell me what you see there?”

Because when Tōru looks in the mirror he sees broken fragments of life. He sees dry, fake smiles, he sees shattered eyes, cracked glass.

“Do you see what it does to you?”

“Why do you continue?”

Tōru chuckles darkly. “Because without them, I can't breathe. The most important thing is you can't let them see. I can't let them know. Do you know what happens when you wear a mask every day? You suffocate from it.”

“Oikawa-kun—”

“You know, I really hate you,” says Tōru softly. “You're so beautiful, so fair-skinned. You have a pretty smile, a stunning body. And you can do what I cannot. And for that, I loathe you.”

Mei backs away, fear in her eyes.

Jealousy is not a good look on him.

Oh, if only Hajime could see him now.

 

  
Tōru has just turned twenty when his best friend, secret love and tormentor sits down next to him at the bar and finds a brand new way to break his heart.

“Oi, Shittykawa, why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

Tōru’s fist clenches. _Because I’m waiting on you._ He bites them down, the same way he chokes back silent tears every night with his only witness being the stars. “No one interesting, I guess.”

“Hmm?”

Shit. Is he being too obvious? Tōru holds his breath for a moment as Hajime stares at him, his gaze so intense he feels like he’s being taken apart with every gear and stray part that makes him who he is being closely examined. He wonders if Hajime likes what he sees. If he realizes that _he’s_ mostly what makes the clockwork respond, like a well-oiled machine triggered by his presence. His stomach churns. He'll blame it on the alcohol.

“Tōru …”

Tōru’s breath does not catch in his throat because that would be strange, right? Oh fuck it, he’s totally breathless. It’s been years since he’s heard his first name slip from Hajime’s lips.

And since Hajime’s started it, Tōru’s pretty sure he can do it too. “Haj—”

Tōru hates Hajime’s phone. More accurately, he hates his stupid girlfriend who has his stupid phone number who can’t go five seconds without calling him. He’s a hypocrite. Tōru feels like a zombie when Hajime’s not around.

Hajime watches him carefully, as though asking him silently if he can answer it.

“Your girl needs you, Iwa-chan,” says Tōru, praying that just this once, Hajime will accept his lies at face value.

It takes forever for Hajime to leave the room. The moment the door closes behind him, he falls apart.

He was hoping that Hajime’s relationship with her would be short, but it's lasted eight months and now Tōru feels like he’s got no chance. At least before he could pretend.

Tōru won’t lie, he fantasizes about the day Hajime’s girlfriend will break up with him because he’s just not there enough and he’ll go to Tōru and _he’ll_ get to comfort _him_ for once and then he’ll look at him all teary-eyed and say that he’s secretly loved Tōru all this time and Tōru will call him an idiot for wasted time but they’ll kiss and it’ll be everything Tōru dreams of.

He hates himself for these self-indulgent dreams. And it’s not because in them, Hajime is finally his, or that he’s stolen him away from his girlfriend, but because he’s willing to make Hajime suffer to get this ideal, picturesque moment that’ll never happen. It hurts more to see Hajime in pain than to be in pain himself.

By the time the bartender hands him his next shot, he’s pretty sure he knows his secret. Tōru gets the feeling he’ll be getting to know the man very well.

 

  
The bartender’s name is Izumi.

Tōru knows because when he’s in the middle of ripping off said-bartender’s clothes, he tells him before he’s fucked against the wall and he screws up his name horribly and embarrassingly.

“Is that his name?” asks Izumi. “Hajime?”

Tōru grits his teeth but he nods anyway. “Iwaizumi Hajime,” he says softly.

“You can call me that if it makes you feel better. I don’t mind.”

But _Tōru_ minds because part of him was hoping that he and Hajime could be each other’s firsts and now he’s gone and ruined that too. He’s just screwing up, making plans for non-existent relationships that’ll never happen.

“I can’t …”

Izumi nods. “I get it.”

“How can you?” Tōru snaps. “You don’t know anything about me, except that I’m huge lightweight!”

“I know you love him.”

It's the first time he hears the truth spoken aloud and it’s not even him who says it. Is he really that obvious? Hajime’s going to be so disgusted with him.

“I know he doesn’t know. That he has a girlfriend. I know that you’re going to destroy your liver if you keep this up and you need to release tension. And I know that it was your first time.”

“That obvious?”

“You came pretty quickly,” admits Izumi. “How long?”

How long?How long since what? How long has he been in love with him? Probably forever. How long has he wished he was a girl so that these feelings wouldn’t be so weird? He’s lost count of the years. How long has he spent thinking indecent thoughts about his best friend? Probably since he’s realized what masturbation is. How long has he cried himself to sleep knowing the impossibility of anything happening? He’s sure the neighbours could tell you. How long has he been clinging onto that desperate hope of a childish promise? Since he realized he was doomed an infinite amount of years ago.

But he doesn’t tell these things to the bartender who’s basically a stranger who he just shoved his dick into.

“Too long.”

 

  
When they’re twenty-three, they move in together.

University is over, Tōru’s pursuing professional volleyball and Hajime is in sports-med. Which technically means Hajime is a doctor. If that doesn’t give Tōru more to fantasize about, he doesn’t know what does.

He’s still with his girlfriend and it still hurts but now it’s become normal for him and he’s not sure if that hurts more than the actual pain.

Loving Iwaizumi Hajime is not a fact, it’s a lifestyle, something he’s learnt to program into his daily routine and accept as part of him now.

When they’re laying down the rules of the apartment there are tons of habits Tōru doesn’t tell Hajime about.

Like how he’ll stare at him a bit too long if he leaves the bathroom in only a towel.

He doesn’t tell him that he’ll sit on the couch waiting for him to get back from his date but then conveniently be too tired to hear about it (not that Hajime kisses and tells).

He _does_ tell him that he’ll blare his music pretty loudly at times (he won’t tell him it’s to cover up his cries).

He doesn’t tell him that he’ll try to stop him from leaving the apartment at any cost to have him closer.

He doesn’t tell him that he’ll probably snuggle closer than he should when they watch movies.

He doesn’t tell him that he’ll jokingly tell him he loves him and mean it with every fibre of his being.

But that’s okay. Hajime’s too dense to pick up on it anyway.

 

  
Tōru is twenty-seven when he brings someone home for the first time.

He’s drunk, to the point where he can barely stand up and he’s clinging onto her like she’s his lifeline. She’s giggling and he can’t help but giggle too as they stumble into the apartment and Hajime is sitting there on the couch watching some kind of nature documentary.

It’s been ten years. He’s had enough. He’s accepted he’ll never have him, so he may as well have fun while he’s still young and beautiful. He feels triumphant as he drags the girl into his room and slams the door.

They do it.

He doesn’t know if it counts as “good”, but he falls asleep immediately after and wakes up without any clue what her name is.

Hajime hands him some pills without asking a thing, but he looks uncomfortable. Tōru hopes he’s jealous. He knows better though.

He can read Hajime like a book, same way he can read him and he knows when he’s making things up so he’ll feel better. That doesn’t stop him from clinging onto him desperately with the excuse of having a killer headache.

 

  
At twenty-nine, Tōru fucks up.

He falls during his jump serve and gets pulled off the court.

The doctor tells him he can never play again and Tōru has seen movies like this, where a girl is told she has six months to live and yet she defies the odds.

Something tells him that's not him.

Hajime brings him home and he falls onto the couch and cries.

Volleyball ... Volleyball is Tōru’s life.

It’s the only thing he loves as much, if not more, than Hajime and if he doesn’t have it, who is he? It’s been the thing that’s shaped him almost as much as his parents. To be told he can never play again … It has to be some kind of sick joke the universe is playing on him. He can’t have Hajime and now he can’t have volleyball.

Hajime holds him, and Tōru falls apart. The day his dreams are crushed, his damnation holds him closer. It's the sweetest torture.

In the past few years, the titles Tōru has given Hajime have changed.

He now calls him Iwaizumi-kun when they’re in public because “Iwa-chan” is not professional. He still calls him “Hajime” in his head, and in his head, Hajime calls him “Tōru”.

Hajime is his best friend.

He’s stopped being his teammate a while ago, but that doesn’t mean they’ve stopped being partners. Tōru’s favourite volleyball moments are when he’s practicing with Hajime and he gets to toss to him.

Hajime is his secret love, the one who breaks his heart, but glues it back together just enough for him to function.

Hajime is also his doctor.

Studying sports-med helps Hajime know when Tōru should practice, where, how often, and when he has to stop him.

Tōru still practices when he’s not supposed to.

It keeps his mind off of the fact that Hajime’s out with his girlfriend.

That night, while he cries Hajime’s girlfriend comes to visit.

She asks to go out and Hajime tells her no, his friend needs him.

She slaps him.

They’re over now.

And even though he knows it’s wrong, Tōru feels as though the gods have given Hajime back to him somehow, even if he can never have him the way he wants.

 

  
Tōru is thirty-one when he’s able to play again.

It’s thanks to Hajime, really. He’s defied the impossible. A special surgery to fix his knee, a strict training schedule that forces him to quit, even when he doesn’t want to, and of course, _lots_ of alien movies.

He’s considered an experienced player now and with his youth gone, he’s no longer a prodigy (not that he ever was in the first place). He doesn’t really mind that much.

He makes a great comeback, Hajime by his side so that he doesn’t take such a bad fall again.

The team says that with Tōru’s return comes the Demon Doctor. He knows they’re talking about Hajime.

They tease him, say he should man up and apologize so he can stop sleeping on the couch and tap that. It physically pains him to tell them they’re wrong.

Hajime gives him a strange look when he hears him deny the accusations. It has to be relief, that he’s dispelling these rumours, but it looks too much like pain.

He’s getting older, maybe he put his contacts in wrong.

 

  
Tōru stares at the clock, waiting for midnight. He’ll be thirty-five soon.

Thirty-five.

He remembers how when he was younger and stupid, he thought the moment it happened he and Hajime could get married.

Now everything is falling apart.

True, Hajime is no longer in a relationship, but it’s been twenty-seven years. That’s a long time to remember such a childish promise made between two boys who were oblivious to the harsh realities of life and how sometimes you don’t always get your best friend who you love with everything you have.

He knows Hajime has plans to move. After over a decade of sharing a shitty apartment, he’ll move on to greater things and when Tōru is older, he’ll be a retired Olympic volleyball player, still talking about that sports-med doctor he used to know.

Midnight strikes.

“Oi, Trashkawa!”

Though many things have changed over the years, Hajime’s insistence that “Oikawa” doesn’t suit him remains constant. Though it leaves an ache in his chest that “Tōru” is only used on special occasions, he can always depend on Hajime to be predictable.

He’s about to open his bedroom door, when Hajime opens it for him and drops an empty suitcase in front of him.

Tōru’s mind goes blank, unable to focus on anything except for his world shifting on its axis.

Hajime is holding a packed suitcase.

“Iwaizumi,” says Tōru. It’s not so much that Hajime’s leaving— he always knew he would— but that he’s only telling him _now_. He’s had weeks to tell him before his departure. “Where … where are you going?” He hopes he doesn't sound too choked up.

“America.”

_That far?_

“Oh.”

Hajime shoves the empty suitcase towards Tōru. “Too lazy to pack all at once? Iwa-chan,” he teases, the old nickname nearly bringing him to tears, “you can’t slack off forever.”

“It’s not for me. It’s for you.”

Tōru stares. “What?”

“You’re thirty-five now, right?”

“Yes …?”

“Then let’s get going.”

“Let’s?” Tōru repeats. How does him being thirty-five have anything to do with relocating? “What do you mean—”

“I’m in a relationship.”

Tōru’s heart breaks anew for the thousandth time. He barely even feels it anymore. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Very committed and I’m moving to the US.”

“How committed?”

“It’s been about … four years?” Hajime says. “Now pack up, Shitkawa.”

Tōru stares at him still. He’s not making any sense. “Why do I need to pack?”

“I can’t marry you here, now can I?” Hajime asks, rolling his eyes as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Marry me?” Tōru echoes.

“We had a promise, didn’t we? Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“No, I …” Tōru still can’t fully understand anything. “But you’re in a relationship, you’re committed—”

“To you.”

And with that every crack, every tear in his heart seems to have been mended. Though he still doesn’t fully understand, he has no doubt he and Hajime will make it through this, the same way they’ve made it through the past twenty-seven years. Together.

“Pack up. We’re getting married.”

And that’s all that matters now.


	2. Pinky Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tōru looks so happy, staring up at the sky, smashing his feet against each other as he lays back in the grass that an insane idea pops into Hajime’s mind. “I think we should get married.”
> 
> Hajime chokes on his water because it has to be the strangest thing in the world when you realize that you and your best friend since birth have the exact same thought at the same time. “ _What_?” he says all the same.

Iwaizumi Hajime is six when it starts for him.

That’s the year Tōru decides he wants to give sports a try. As a relatively short child, basketball is out of the question. Without much running strength, so is baseball. Soccer can’t work because Tōru thinks men’s soccer is the most pathetic thing he’s ever seen (Hajime has to agree, he remembers seeing a girl with a bleeding head go back onto the field whereas a man got kicked in the shin and fell into a heap of pain) and tennis is just … _weird_. So volleyball it is.

And since Tōru and Hajime have always done everything together, it just makes sense that they’ll play volleyball together. To be honest, Hajime likes looking for bugs more, and he knows Tōru doesn’t hate it (because Tōru lets you know when he doesn’t like something, and he seems to get a kick out of watching ants burn underneath a magnifying glass) but still, the look in Tōru’s eyes when he watches someone jump serve for the first time … perhaps that’s when he realizes it.

But of course, he can’t say anything because he’s six, what does he know about that weird feeling in his stomach?

It doesn’t really change anything, Hajime plays with Tōru and has fun hanging out with him and they get better together and then one day it just happens.

“You know what?”

“What?”

“Aren’t you gonna guess?”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “It’ll save us both time and effort if we just admit right now I’m not a mind reader and you should just tell me what you’re thinking.”

Tōru pouts. “Buzzkill,” he whines. Hajime rolls his eyes, but if he’s being honest with himself it’s just for the effect. Tōru looks so happy, staring up at the sky, smashing his feet against each other as he lays back in the grass that an insane idea pops into Hajime’s mind. “I think we should get married.”

Hajime chokes on his water because it has to be the strangest thing in the world when you realize that you and your best friend since birth have the exact same thought at the same time. “ _What_?” he says all the same.

_Is he thinking what I’m thinking?_

“Well, Nee-chan has a boyfriend, and everyone thinks they’ll be getting married and if I’m gonna marry anyone I want it to be you,” says Tōru as though it’s the easiest thing in the world and part of Hajime thinks it is when another thing occurs to him.

“But we’re both guys.”

“Does that matter?”

Hajime blinks. _Does it?_ “I ... I think it does.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“What if I don't want to marry you?” asks Hajime because he’s just playing his role of having to be the most disagreeable out of the two of them.

Tōru pauses. “Then … We don’t get married.” He looks a bit sad at that. “Ooh! I know! What about if we're single by the time we're thirty-five, we get married?”

Hajime tilts his head.

This has been a weird day. First, he goes to practice some serves, catch a worm perhaps and maybe look for starships and then he and Tōru are on the same wavelength for some odd reason. Is this some sort of thing from one of those bad sci-fi movies Tōru makes him watch?

“Okay, sure. If we're not in a relationship by the time we're thirty-five, we'll get married to each other.”

They pinky swear it, which is a huge deal, so it's basically written in stone now.

Hajime wonders if this is an invasion of the body snatchers or something.

 

  
When they’re fourteen it dawns on Hajime just what he’s feeling and even worse, other people feel it too towards Tōru. No, _Oikawa_. He can’t call him Tōru, that’s too personal. He’s the one who made them switch to last names and yet somehow it’s even worse because while “Hajime” makes him feel all kinds of weird warm feelings, “Iwa-chan” is somehow not as annoying as he pretends it is.

Fourteen is also the first year they’re not in the same class. There are countless times Hajime turns a corner to find Tōr— _Oikawa_ talking to a girl.

He can’t watch, so instead he calls to him.

“Oi, Asskawa!” It’s juvenile, he knows it is, but at the same time if Tō— _Oikawa’s_ going to call him Iwa-chan, he’s going to take every opportunity he can get letting him know what trash he is. Besides, he looks relieved to be given an excuse to leave the girl.

“What did she want?” asks Hajime, even though he knows the answer.

“She said she liked me,” Oikawa says with a shrug. Hajime gives himself a mental pat on the back for not screwing up this time.

“Eh?” he says, playing dumb.

“Yeah, I didn't really get it either.”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “Of course she likes you.”

 _Shit_. Whilst one part of his brain is panicking that he’s said too much, another domain find the new world of swearing exciting. He’s ready to explore it, rather than linger on his fuck up. If Ma heard him, he’d definitely be washing his mouth out.

“What do you mean of course?”

Hajime tries to think fast. What can he say that sounds like an insult but is still true? It’s surprisingly hard to insult Tōru— _shit_ , he’s fallen back into calling him Tōru again. It’s surprisingly hard to insult _Oikawa_ (Hajime cheers internally). It’s not because he’s not annoying. He is, but Hajime’s gotten so used to it he barely even notices these small parts of Oikawa that make him one of the most twisted people Hajime knows (in retrospect he should’ve known when he realized Tōru’s adoration for watching little insects burn).

“You’re warped but you’ve got a pretty face.” Shit. Did his voice just crack? It did, didn’t it? He’ll just pretend that didn’t happen.

“Does Iwa-chan like my face?”

“Shut up, Trashkawa.”

Hajime’s so glad Oikawa looks the other way because his face must be on fire.

 

  
Hajime feels bad when he and Oikawa sign up for Aobajōsai’s volleyball team.

He should’ve gone to Shiratorizawa.

Oikawa tried to hide it but Hajime saw the acceptance letter.

_He’s here because of me._

Oikawa is an amazing player. He won the Best Setter award, he’s considered a prodigy. Why is he holding himself back? But Hajime knows the truth. It’s _him_ who’s holding him back. Because he wants to stay with him. Because Oikawa doesn’t refuse.

 

  
It's while Hajime's trying to do his algebra homework and Oikawa is lying on his bed, playing with a volleyball that Hajime learns the true meaning of teenage angst.

“Hey Iwa-chan, remember Meg-chan?”

Hajime takes a much needed break from trying to find x, and instead tries to create a mental image in his mind of Megumi Aoi, the short-haired captain of the girl's volleyball team.

“What about her?”

“Her and I are dating.”

Hajime doesn't mean to sound over-dramatic but the moment the lead in his pencil breaks, he's pretty sure the same thing's happened to his chest, around the heart area.

“Just thought you should know.”

Hajime grips his pencil tighter. He says it so casually, and of course he should say it casually, it's a normal thing to say, that Oikawa hasn't had a girlfriend before this is abnormal and this is just him conforming to everyone's expectations. They're the perfect match, two dedicated volleyball captains with great looks. There’s a part of him that’s disappointed though, because Oikawa has never conformed to the image others thrust upon him.

He’s pretty, so he must be an idiot. He and Iwaizumi are in college prep courses.

He’s an athlete, he must be buff. Oikawa is fit, but nowhere close to a muscle-man.

He’s got a nice face and voice, he must have a wonderful personality. Oikawa is twisted more than a pretzel, and a thousand times more disturbing.

He's smooth, he must be a heartbreaker. Megumi-san is his first girlfriend.

It was going to happen eventually, Hajime reminds himself.

It doesn't hurt any less.

But Oikawa doesn't bring it up again, mentions it like the weather and rather than cancel plans to spend more time with her (as Hajime inevitable expects of him), he cancels on her so he can practice this awesome new attack the two of them have been working on.

It makes him feel special. He can't help it. He knows he shouldn't, he's not doing this to be with Hajime, he's doing this to become better, to beat Kageyama. But still, when he tosses to him, with that look in his eye, like this one is a special toss, one just for him, he feels it anyway.

 

  
It's when Hajime has just placed his bento in front of him for lunch that Oikawa sits down next to him with a mark on his cheek to bring colour back to Hajime's world.

“We're over.”

Hajime can't help but grin like an idiot. He even lets Oikawa take his milk bread.

 

  
The most heartbreaking thing Hajime has ever seen is Oikawa Tōru, face covered in sweat, skin burning, palms red, tossing up yet again for another jump serve.

He’s been watching for a few minutes, has seen the way Oikawa pushes himself, falls over and starts again. The way he keeps slamming that ball into the wall, surely leaving a dent.

Mid-jump, Hajime makes his presence known.

He knows Oikawa doesn’t want to talk, so he doesn’t say a thing. Instead, he picks up the ball that rolls his way and throws it back to Oikawa. No, _Tōru_. In this instance, in this moment, he can call him Tōru. He’ll let himself be self-indulgent just this once.

Silently, he asks for a toss.

There are reasons for it. Why they go for hours without speaking, the only sounds to be heard the slam of the ball, the squeaky shoes against the gym floor and heavy breathing that comes out in sync, like they’re one.

He can say it’s because Oikawa Tōru is the captain and as his vice and ace, it’s his job to make sure he gets everything out, is picked up when he falls. He can claim it’s because he needs the extra practice. He can proclaim that it’s because it’s fun (volleyball has become fun to him now, but perhaps that’s because now when they talk about Tōru, they talk about him too, they call him “Oikawa’s ace”. And he feels as though he has some ownership over him which he knows is sick and wrong). He can say it's because Tōru’s his best friend and it’s part of the best friends since childhood contract to support each other.

But when Tōru falls and his legs give out from under him and Hajime begins to collect the balls that have been scattered around the large gymnasium, heart beating fast, sweat dripping down his forehead, muscles aching, and ready to go again at the slightest notice, he admits it to himself.

He’s doing it for _them_.

Yes, it’s for Tōru, he tells him so, but he’s not so pure-hearted that his reasons aren’t entirely selfless. He’s always thought Tōru was the selfish one, but now he realizes Hajime may be the tyrant.

He’s made Tōru call him “Iwaizumi-kun” (more accurately, “Iwa-chan”) so he didn’t have to deal with hearing his first name from his lips. He’s made him go to Aobajōsai instead of Shiratorizawa because they need to stay together. And he’s playing with him now because they haven’t practiced one-on-one, so raw, so freely, in forever and he misses it. He misses it so much, he aches.

“Wanna go again?”

It’s not much, but it’s the best he can do, because he’s not affectionate like Tōru. He doesn’t make as big of a deal of their friendship as the setter does, but he hopes Tōru knows Hajime appreciates their friendship. He wonders if the alien nerd is as grateful he knows him as he is knowing Tōru.

Because casual touches and smiles don’t come naturally to him, he offers what he can. His time. His attention.

Himself.

_I’m here. I’m always here._

Tōru opens his mouth, and there’s this look in his eyes, like he wants to say something but then something dark takes over his gaze. Hajime blinks and it’s gone and then he’s smiling, as if the idiot doesn’t know Hajime sees right thorough his bullshit.

“No, I’m all good now.”

Hajime nods.

He doesn’t believe him.

He knows Tōru knows that he doesn’t believe him.

_I guess the message hasn’t gotten to you yet._

 

  
It’s weird not hearing Oikawa knock on his door to wake him up every morning.

Hajime never knew how much he depended on their strange morning routine and now the days just kind of go by the same way the sun shines, expected, anticipated, but nothing worth remembering.

He has to bite his tongue when he does see Oikawa because otherwise he’ll ask him how he’s been and he’ll be asked as well and then he’ll start talking about how much he misses him when clearly Oikawa isn’t like that. He’s sure he’s got a pretty girlfriend by now.

It’s kind of like when Oikawa got his first girlfriend (who broke it off because he was too “obsessed”). Like he’s in the background, and his world’s lost its colour. It’s like knowing saturation and having it disappear. It feels empty.

Lifeless.

And it hurts. It hurts a lot.

They need to move in together after university because Hajime’s not sure how much longer he can survive through this separation.

 

  
Hajime doesn't know how Oikawa turned away girls in high school.

A girl is standing in front of him, cheeks flushed, looking all nervous and yet he can't find the words to reject her.

It's not because he doesn't want to hurt her feelings.

It's not because she's tugged at his heartstrings or he's sentimental since this is his first time receiving a confession.

It's not even because she's pretty, or that she's in charge of that one study group that actually _works_ during study hall.

It's because of her name.

Tohru.

Tohru Misaki.

He wishes he could say he chose his first girlfriend is because of an honest connection, because of heartfelt words and shared sentiments. He wants to tell you that it's because she's pretty and he's over him and he's tired of waiting and thinks he can grow to love her.

In the end the truth is because she shares the name of the one he cannot have.

Hajime doesn't know when he became such a horrible person.

 

  
On their first date she goes in for a kiss and Hajime pulls away.

She thinks it's cute, that he's shy.

He knows the truth.

They go to see some movie, some rom-com. The only thing he can think of is how Oikawa would cling to him and use his sleeve as a tissue as he blubbers over the cheesiest plot-line, only to tell him as the credits roll that the story wasn't all that touching and it would've been much better if there had been an alien invasion.

He barely holds her hand and she thinks it's because he's uncomfortable, nervous on a first date and he wishes it was that because it would hurt so much less that way.

When he drops her off, she tells him she enjoyed it. He searches his brain for a good response, an appropriate response and instead just grunts.

She invites him in. He turns her down.

When the door closes and he walks back to his dorm, he slides open his phone and dials Oikawa's number. He stares at the digits, at his stupid picture and can't help the first genuine smile of the night slipping out. Then he thinks of what he must be doing, hanging out with some girl at a study group, maybe making out in the back of the library and his expression turns sour.

He shuts his phone. He feels robbed of that satisfaction that comes from slamming a flip-phone shut.

He grits his teeth and reminds himself for the thousandth time he's not even allowed to have such thoughts. Because _he's_ the weird one and Oikawa is probably enjoying his university life without Hajime to hinder him.

Hajime may cry just a little bit on the way back, but it's dark and it's not like anyone can see except the stars.

 

  
He holds them close and feels the slope of their neck, can feel their eyelashes on his face. Their fingers are a little too smooth, their hand just a little too gentle. Their hair is just a bit too long, they’re just a bit too short.

And then Hajime presses his forehead against theirs, his eyes closed and he reminds himself it makes sense.

Of course their fingers are smooth, they haven't been worked over through years of rigorous training, their hands are gentle because there's no need to spike so harshly. Of course their hair is long, they don't need to keep it wavy and short and curling a bit near the ears. Of course they're shorter than him because no girl stands at six feet.

He feels guilty. He doesn’t look at her for a long time.

He should tell her.

But he's allowed to say _his_ name this way so he keeps quiet.

 

  
It's so much easier to hide behind a lie, Hajime finds. It's easier to convince himself he actually loves her. And then he goes to Oikawa's twentieth birthday party and everything shatters.

How is he even living with her? How is he still breathing without _him_? How has he never realized that his eyes light up when he talks about aliens under the right lighting? How could he forget the way he smiles? How did he resist him with flushed cheeks, slightly tipsy?

When his girlfriend calls him, he looks at Oikawa who tells him to answer because he should but Hajime doesn't want to because something was going to happen, they were both leaning so close, they were both going to—

No.

Oikawa isn't like that.

Hajime is the only one who's this disgusting.

He hates himself some days.

When he answers, he snaps a bit, as if she's interrupted something. There's nothing to interrupt. Nothing is going to change, nothing would've changed if anything had happened, Hajime would still be standing with a broken heart, Oikawa would just tear it more the farther he would back away as the true meaning behind all the “punches" Hajime gives him dawn on him.

He'd be disgusted.

It's a good thing she interrupted.

He tells himself this over and over again and yet he can't make himself believe it.

When he comes back into the bar, Oikawa is talking to the bartender who's looking at him in a way Hajime wishes he could. So open, so honest with interest.

Because he has nothing to lose.

Part of Hajime wishes he wasn't a coward, wishes he was able to do it too, wishes he could pull Oikawa aside and kiss him against the wall and for it to be okay because he can imagine the way he would bend underneath him, curl into his body.

If he thinks long and hard enough, he can almost feel his heat, the sensation of his callused hands on him. The texture of his hand beneath his fingers, the sounds he’d make. He’d treat him so good, if he only got the chance, just one. He’s imagined it in so many ways. He’s dreamt of those eyes, brimming with emotion he can’t show anyone but him, haunting him in the dark and the highest of highs that follow when he says the words he wants to hear so badly, he can taste them on his tongue.

The image of disgust in those chocolate irises is more vivid than anything, with venom on his tongue and laughter that chips away at his already weak chest cavity.

And yet though he knows the stakes as he watches the bartender flirt with Oikawa none the wiser, a treacherous what if enters his mind.

Hajime hates his mind sometimes.

 

  
Hajime did not think living together through.

When he's twenty-seven, Oikawa comes stumbling through the front door with a girl on his shoulder. They trip and giggle and he watches them disappear into Oikawa's room.

He tells himself he didn't cry that night.

He watches her leave the next morning, up before Oikawa. She's pretty. She's the girl your parents want you to marry. At least Oikawa's doing what others want of him. At least he's normal.

“You his roommate?” she asks and he nods. “He's kinda stupid, but he's fun. Give him my number.” She slides him a slip of paper over the table. He stares at it blankly.

She walks out.

Hajime stares at the cursive digits.

This is what Oikawa is. He's a man who wants women, he's _normal_. He should call her back, she looks like a nice girl. He should probably date her, maybe marry her and have a bunch of children with her and eventually grow old and die with her.

He should have that. He _deserves_ that.

Hajime has never set a match faster before.

When Oikawa stumbles into the kitchen with a headache and hangover, Hajime hands him the pills and stomps on the burnt pieces of paper under his foot before sliding them underneath the table.

Later that day Hajime flushes the burnt crisps down the toilet, just to make sure they're extra gone.

This isn't sabotage, it’s time. More time with Oikawa before the inevitable.

Hajime throws up in the toilet while Oikawa's out.

It's almost as if he's the one with the hangover.

 

  
Hajime is wrong.

The most heartbreaking thing he's ever seen is not Oikawa— _Tōru_ overworking himself in an empty gym as he falls to his knees from his over-used and abused legs, it's the look on his face when Hajime runs into the emergency room after getting a call about some game accident and seeing the expression on his face when someone tells Tōru he can never play again.

He takes him home and holds him close, saying it's because he needs it, rubs his back and calls him by his first name because he needs it, turns on an alien movie marathon without question.

Hajime thinks he knows pain.

Pain is loving someone you can't have, someone you shouldn't, someone who will never feel the same.

Pain is being separated from your other half for three years, knowing your absence doesn't affect them the way theirs affects you.

Pain is waiting for a toss from your setter only to realize they're not who you thought they were.

Pain is going to bed with tear stains running down your cheeks on some days when the hopelessness of your situation hits you.

Hajime thinks wrong.

Pain is watching the one you love in pain.

When his girlfriend comes to see him, he ignores her. She slaps him.

They’re over.

He feels liberated.

 

  
Hajime sees it as before and after. Before the fall and after.

He's not the same. His eyes sparkle just a little less. He says he's okay but it's so obvious he's not. Hajime is a sports medicine doctor, with the reason sitting across from him at the dinner table. And yet he isn't able to help him.

He's never felt more useless.

So Hajime may pull some strings.

Being a sports med doctor means he has connections. So maybe he talks to a few surgeons, speaks to a few specialists, chats up a couple of women in his office who work with ankle sprains and such. And maybe he then does extensive research and drives his boss insane with how little sleep he gets as he searches for the thing that he needs to make Oikawa smile again.

It's during dinner that he mentions it.

“So ... have you ever thought of surgery?”

“Aren't I beautiful enough, Iwa— Iwaizumi-kun?”

He hates the way he bites his lip to stop himself from calling him that nickname. Hajime has many regrets, the deepest one being forcing Oikawa to call him by last name.

“I meant for your leg.”

Oikawa pauses, barely swallowing his salad before he pulls his legs in closer to him, as though to inspect them. Through the years he's only grown more handsome, and more pretty. It's a fact; Oikawa Tōru is pretty. He sits with his legs crossed on his chair but now they're up to his chin and he's tilting his head.

“What's this about, Iwaizumi-kun?”

“I know a guy.”

And he watches as the light slowly returns in Oikawa's eyes and he sits up straighter and then it flickers, like he's scared of the idea because who hasn't heard of a surgery gone wrong? But he wants it, Hajime knows he wants it, knows he'll ignore all warnings and plunge in if it'll get him on the court again.

And then slowly he starts to smile. Truly, honestly smile.

It's blinding.

Against his will, Hajime feels a smile creeping up on him as well.

 

  
Watching Oikawa play is the most beautiful thing Hajime has ever seen. He jumps and does that killer serve and it’s been a while but his body remember exactly how to do it, executes it flawlessly and he’s twelve years old again.

He’s just learnt how to do it _just right_ and he’s giddy every time the ball touches his palm, his skin glowing red, stinging with the best kind of pain.

_He’s back._

And he starts to set to him and on lazy days they’ll practice late into the night until they can’t find the ball anymore, and he’s seventeen and so stupidly in love with the unattainable captain who everyone loves, but don’t know about the unironic love for Rick Astley and _Enlist in Starfleet_ poster at the foot of his bed.

Hajime’s never regretted his decision not to pursue volleyball professionally. It’s what it’s always been, a fun way to connect to Oikawa. Playing with him on the side, practicing, without a scoreboard, no points, just a toss especially for him, perfectly calculated like he was _meant_ to toss to him gives him the same rush as the crowded gymnasium with everyone cheering on the ace.

He doesn’t know who he’d be without Oikawa.

 

  
He's now Oikawa's personal on-court doctor. Whenever he plays, Hajime is there, watching, making sure he doesn't push himself too far. The coaches want to give him an expert, someone better with more experience than some childhood friend, but no one is an expert on Oikawa Tōru quite like Iwaizumi Hajime. No one knows his limits better than he does.

One day he hears the teammates talking. They're saying something about how Oikawa better not sprain his ankle during a romp with his doctor. And then Oikawa shakes his head and tells them they're wrong, he and Hajime aren't like that but then he looks down and suddenly everything Hajime has ever wanted is reflected in his eyes for a split second before it disappears and Oikawa goes back to teasing.

By the time Hajime's thirty-one, he's given up on love. That is, love with anyone other than Oikawa. He's accepted his fate, it's something he'll have to live with, it's something he _does_ live with.

And he supposes his only option now is to wait out the timer, wait till he's thirty-five and pray Oikawa isn't in a relationship.

On nights when he doubts things, he remembers that look, of longing and broken glass in Oikawa's eyes and he wonders if that's what he looks like when he looks at him. He wonders if Oikawa knows already. It hurts to think of how shattered he looked in that moment but it still pushes Hajime forward.

It's strange that such pain in his best friend's eyes gives him hope.

 

  
He starts looking for a new home in the US soon after his thirty-fourth birthday. If he's lucky, he and Tōru (oh it feels so good to call him that, even if he doesn't say it aloud) will move there and get married. It sure won't happen here in Japan with the way same sex marriage laws work. If he's unlucky, he'll move away and try to get over him.

Hajime chuckles to himself.

As if he hasn't been trying to do that since he was six.

It's 11:55, July 19th. Five minutes.

In five minutes time, his whole future will be determined by the one lying in his bed in the room across from his.

Surely if he didn't want him, he'd have moved out already. It's been over ten years. That has to mean something.

Or maybe he's reading too much into it?

11:56

_Calm down. You're freaking out too much._

But when has he ever been calm when it comes to Tōru?

Hajime stares at his suitcase.

Has he jumped the gun? Assuming something ahead of time? Maybe he's in over his head.

11:57

Rejection isn't the worst thing he's ever faced. He thinks. He's not sure. The worst thing he’s ever endured were those years when he and Tōru were like ships passing in the night. So no, rejection isn't the worst thing he's ever faced.

Unless Tōru decides he's disgusted in him (as he's suspected all along) and they never speak again.

11:58

Yeah, he might die.

Well, he's had a good run.

11:59

Hajime picks up his suitcase and the empty one.

12:00

“Oi, Trashkawa!”

He opens the door and throws the suitcase on the floor.

Tōru stares at him dumbly.

_Why does he have to be so cute?_

“Iwaizumi,” says Tōru. He sounds choked up. “Where … where are you going?”

“America.”

 _Don’t shake. Don’t quiver. You’ve got this. You’re stone-cold, you can handle it. He’s just Tōru, the guy you’ve been in love with for the majority of your life, even before you knew what love was. You can do this._ He can’t chicken out. Not now.

“Oh.”

Hajime kicks the empty suitcase towards Tōru and watches as his big brown eyes follow the movement. “Too lazy to pack all at once?” He’s smiling, but it’s not real. “Iwa-chan, you can’t slack off forever.”

 _Bullshit_. It’s utter bullshit that’s coming from his mouth and then Hajime realizes maybe he’s going about this the wrong way. Maybe he should be doing this differently. Does Tōru even remember? And yet he can’t help but want to smile at the sound of his old nickname.

“It’s not for me, it’s for you.”

Tōru stares. “What?”

“You’re thirty-five now, right?”

“Yes …?”

Oh God, he’s still giving him such a blank look. Thirty-five has always been a magical number to Hajime. Thirty-five is not an age, it’s his future and everything he’s ever wanted. Thirty-five is when his life begins, and here is Tōru, just not getting it. He hopes he looks calm because he’s freaking out right now.

“Then let’s get moving.”

“Let’s? What do you mean—”

“I’m in a relationship.”

Tōru’s eyes meet the ground and he won’t look at him. Why won’t he look at him? “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” It’s been years. Puberty is long over, Hajime has grown older, his voice cannot crack. It _cannot_. Part of him is desperately wishing they had made this agreement with a younger age in mind, like when they were twenty-one, that would’ve been nice, but there’s no point mourning over the past and now he has a very thick Tōru he has to get through to. “Very committed and I’m moving to the US.”

“How committed?”

“It’s been about … four years?” Does the promise still apply if he’s thirty-five, but in a relationship with Tōru? Nah, it’s been one-sided, because it’s not like there’s anyone else he can hand his heart to when it’s clutched so tightly (and unknowingly) in the burning red fist of a six year old with an alien obsession and a brand new serve that has him jumping around like he’s going off to space any second now.

“Now pack up, Shitkawa.”

“Why do I need to pack?”

“I can’t marry you here, now can I?” Hajime asks, rolling his eyes as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He’s sweating a lot, isn’t he? He’s totally turning into a sweaty sponge. What if he responds negatively?

“Marry me?” Tōru echoes.

It’s worse. It’s like he doesn’t even remember.

“We had a promise, didn’t we?” Hajime’s heart stops. He’s been waiting forever for this moment, ever since he was six really, and he’s been praying for a chance since he was at least sixteen, and he’s been living off of hope for the past four years so if he’s wrong— dear God don’t let him be wrong and he won’t ever ask for anything ever again. “Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

He’s not that big of a catch, why would someone like Tōru want him? He’s grumpy, he’s disagreeable, he was in a relationship with a girl for almost ten years filled with nothing, he doesn’t know how to love someone properly, Tōru can have anyone, why would he—

“No, I …” Hajime really wants to hit Tōru. Because he can’t just say “No” while he’s having a freak out, a miniature inner monologue, as if answering and quelling all the worries in his heart and then leave him hanging as he tries to think up the rest of his sentence. “But you’re in a relationship, you’re committed—”

The moment of truth is upon him and suddenly Hajime thinks he should be more worried than he is but the words slip out easily, like they’ve finally escaped their decades old prison cell.

“To you.”

The look in Tōru’s eyes is akin to that look Hajime first saw when Tōru first saw a volleyball match, to when he first managed to get that jump serve _just_ right, to when he was finally able to play again after so long.

“Pack up. We’re getting married.”

No, it’s better.


	3. will you still love me the same?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “D-don’t look at me!” It sounds like a plea.
> 
> In all the time Hajime has known Oikawa Tōru, he has never heard him beg.
> 
> And then Hajime sees it in his eyes. 
> 
> It’s not that Tōru doesn’t love him, he doesn’t hate Hajime. 
> 
> He hates _himself_.

Hajime can’t remember a time he’s smiled so much. 

He struggles with the lock, but then the apartment door opens and they tumble inside and Tōru has never looked more beautiful.

He can’t wait. He presses him against the door. He’s grinning and it’s interfering with the kiss, but he doesn’t care because there’s no need to rush, they have all the time in the world now because Tōru is _his_ and he is Tōru’s, and he’s _allowed to say that_. He’s able to call this idiot with the unhealthy alien obsession, who pushes himself too hard, who doesn’t know when to quit, whose broken his heart a thousand times over, this heartbreaker and saviour _his_. 

Hajime’s fingers play with the hem of Tōru’s shirt, his soon-to-be husband’s ( _he can say that_ , he still can’t believe this is really happening) and he’s anxious and nervous and it’s almost as if he’s never done this before because he _hasn’t_ , not with Tōru and nothing’s really happened until Tōru’s been a part of it.

He breathes his first name and he’s acting like he’s twenty-three again, because he’s been waiting years and years to be able to say it, say it to him without worrying about giving anything away.

He nudges his neck, kissing him softly, feeling Tōru’s expert, setter fingers in his hair, a sigh of contentment escaping his lips. It’s like he’s melted inside after so much longing. He lets his fingers travel underneath the shoulder blades of Tōru’s jacket, pushing it off slowly. It falls to the ground without so much as a sound. 

“ _Aishiteru_ ,” he whispers.

Something’s wrong.

Tōru’s trembling. 

Something bitter makes its way into his mouth. Tastes like salt. 

He’s crying.

Hajime pulls away. “Are you okay?”

“Perfect,” says Tōru and yet there’s something not right. He can feel it. 

Tōru has never been able to lie to him.

“Tell me.”

“It’s nothing, Iwa-chan.” 

That stings.

After so long, Hajime has been looking forward to hearing his first name tumble from Tōru’s lips, a pleasure he’s only got a faint memory of, something he wants so badly he can taste it. But it’s okay, perhaps Tōru hasn’t been waiting as long as he has. He’s fine with that. It doesn’t matter whether or not Tōru loves him as much as he loves him; all that’s important is that _Tōru loves him._

Hajime threads their fingers together. Tōru turns his eyes away. He’s blushing. It’s never been more adorable. 

Hajime gently guides Tōru up the stairs to the bedroom and the former captain follows him without a word. 

Once the door is open, they both fall onto the bed. It’s just a mattress at this point, but he can’t wait to hold him, because _he can_ and it’s more than he ever dreamed he’d be able to do. 

The tears have dried and Tōru seems okay now. There’s still something lingering in his eyes, but Hajime knows better than to press. If he presses, Tōru will just pull away and he doesn’t know if he can handle that.

His fingers are slow and purposeful as they start to undo the buttons of Tōru’s shirt. The room is fairly silent and he bows his head down to kiss him again when Tōru pushes him off. He’s crying again and it’s not just emotional crying, Hajime can tell this time it’s different.

“D-don’t touch me.” Tears are streaming down his face. His fingers are trembling as he tries to button up his shirt. “D-don’t look at me!” It sounds like a plea.

In all the time Hajime has known Oikawa Tōru, he has never heard him beg.

And then Hajime sees it in his eyes. 

It’s not that Tōru doesn’t love him, he doesn’t hate Hajime. 

He hates _himself_.

It’s right there, the insecurity in his eyes, his self-doubt. 

It’s something that Hajime knows Tōru dealt with before in the past, when he grew taller than the other boys a bit faster, when he was praised for his genius and he felt as though he couldn’t meet expectations. It was premature of him to believe it was gone.

Hajime takes Tōru’s hand in his own gently. His voice drops to a whisper, thick with tension. “Tōru, do you think you’re ugly?”

Tōru has pulled into himself, his knees curled up to his chest. He’s not looking at him, but the tears are still coming, he’s still crying and Hajime knows this is an inner-demon he can’t destroy as easily as he did the blocks of the opposing team. 

“Look at me, please.”

An eternity passes before Tōru rises to meet Hajime’s eyes.

His eyes break him. It’s the same look he had when he was told he’d never play again. It’s a look Hajime never wants to see again. 

“Do you think that?”

“Iwa-chan …”

“I’m not going to get mad, just tell me. Do you think you’re ugly?” 

“I …” Tōru’s breathing is irregular. He hiccups. “How are you not disgusted?” 

“By you?” Hajime shakes his head. “I could never be disgusted.”

“But—”

“Look at me Shittykawa, have I ever lied to you?”

Tōru lets out a light chuckle at the old nickname, but it’s fake. So horribly fake. 

“You know you’re not ugly, I know you do, you’re always talking about how pretty you are, about all those girls who love you,” Hajime points out in a soft voice. He doesn’t want to outright contradict Tōru, doesn’t want to make him pull even more into himself. 

“That was then.”

"What's changed since then?"

“I was twenty-six.”

“Do you think you’re old?” 

Tōru turns away.

He has his answer.

Hajime knows that despite being his voice of reason, when it comes to things like this, to Tōru’s inner fears and doubts, words alone aren’t enough. He remembers that day in middle school, slamming his head against that thick skull of his, of the blood dripping down his forehead when all he had wanted to do was pull him close and close the distance a different way.

Now’s the time for that different way.

Hajime runs his thumb over Tōru’s lifeline slowly, letting it soothe him. “Your hands are very delicate. Even with all the calluses.” He bends down and gently kisses each of Tōru’s knuckles, watching as Tōru takes in a deep breath and becomes red.

“W-what are you doing?” 

Hajime spreads out Tōru’s fingers.

“I loved getting tosses from these hands. It’s part of the reason I didn’t continue in uni. I didn’t want to spike anyone else’s tosses.” He sucks on one of Tōru’s fingers, and slowly draws it out of his mouth. The brunet is looking at him as though hypnotized. “It felt like cheating. They wouldn’t do it right anyway. I knew they wouldn’t. You sent me such perfect tosses …” Lacing Tōru’s free hand with his own, he continues running his tongue along the palm and paying attention to each digit as he goes on. “Whenever you needed something done right in a game, you’d always give the ball to me. You trusted me to get the point. I never told you how much that meant to me.

“You were going to go off to university, and play volleyball. Of course you were. You can take the boy off the court, but you’ll have to rip the volleyball out of his cold, dead hands. I was terrified. I worried you were going to find some other spiker to have that perfect connection with you always talked about.”

“Never.” He sounds breathless.

“How was I supposed to know that? You’d find someone more agreeable, someone nicer, who didn’t hit you as much.” Hajime lets his fingers interlace with Tōru’s, and taking his other, showing it the same affection.

“And it was stupid, but I was jealous of those who would get your tosses. I didn’t want anyone else spiking _my_ tosses. They weren’t _mine_ , but they felt like it. Like they were special, only for me. To share them with others proved I was no different from any other player.

“It hurt. A lot. I thought you were always the selfish one, but I was wrong. I wanted your tosses, wanted your hands, all to myself.”

Tōru’s breath hitches.

The ex-vice lets his hands move up higher, towards his lover’s arms. “I wanted all of you. I wanted to feel your hands on me, wanted to know what it felt like to be caged in by your arms.” He kisses Tōru’s pale skin gently as he goes, moving up his arm. “Somehow, even with those serves, your arms never became bulky. They were always the right medium between strong and yet lean. I was so jealous of that too. That you had such perfect arms …” He can feel the hair as it rises on Tōru’s arms as he speaks, reacting to his voice. He’s stopped crying, but he doesn’t dare mention it. 

“The girls would talk about you so much, I’d get jealous. Whenever you play they still talk about you. I’d hate it when you were late for practice cause the girls would ambush you. Do you know how many girls asked me to give you their confession? I threw them all in the garbage. Kinda felt bad about it too.” 

Hajime moves to Tōru’s shoulder and he pulls at the collar of his shirt, kissing his shoulder blade. “I used to fantasize about your skin, your neck. I used to imagine what sounds you’d make if I could just get you alone for five minutes, _just five,_ and do whatever I wanted with you.”

“I would’ve let you,” says Tōru. “God I would’ve let you, for however long you wanted.”

Hajime presses a kiss to Tōru’s neck and notices the way he almost recoils into himself, but he knows this isn’t self-doubt. This is a reflex of sensitivity. Hajime breathes on his skin and tries to hold in a giggle as Tōru tries to push him back so he doesn’t kick him in his involuntary fit of laughter. Him, giggle. He’s thirty-five, you’d think he’d be above giggling.

“That’s good to know,” whispers Hajime. He lets his hands move upwards to brush Tōru’s neck, caressing him gently. “I wanted to mark you,” Hajime admits and he’s so glad that the only response he gets from Tōru is a deep sigh. He’s not sure how he’d respond if Tōru made a joke about him being similar to a dog. “I know they say hickeys go out of fashion, but it would’ve been nice. To know that everyone could see you were taken, knew that you were _mine_. They used to call me ‘Oikawa’s ace’. I really liked that. You have _no idea_ how much I liked that.” His lips linger on Tōru’s collarbone and he pauses. 

“You know what else I didn’t like? I hated it when you called Matsukawa Matsuun, or Hanamaki Maki-chan. It was like “chan” wasn’t specially for me.” Hajime lets one of his hands drop, rubbing Tōru thigh gently. “You have no idea how insecure I was during school. Still am really.”

“But Iwa— Hajime.” Hajime can be a man and admit he stops breathing for a second. “You’re perfect.”

Hajime laughs softly. “When the only reason girls talk to you is so they can confess to your best friend, it does stuff to you.

"I thought it was only me, I was the weird one, with all sorts of weird feelings for another boy.” Hajime can feel himself starting to shake, but he’s doing this for Tōru and if digging deep into his insecurities is what it takes, he’ll do anything. “I thought about how, even if you were by some miracle, into guys, there was no way you’d go for me. I’m your opposite, dark where you’re light, serious where you’re goofy, always frowning while you can keep smiling—”

“You know those are fake—”

“Still, you could do it. You’ve always been … other-worldly to me.”

“Is that the reason for all the Vulcan kisses?”

Hajime lets out a soft chuckle as his hand lingers on the zipper of Tōru’s pants. “I had to learn _something_ from all those damn _Star Trek_ marathons.” He strokes him gently through the fabric and drinks in his soft gasps. “You were always loud where I was quiet. Someone like you … it was a miracle you were my friend. I don’t think I ever told you how much that meant to me. That you wouldn’t let me go, wouldn’t let me distance myself from you.”

“Hajime,” says Tōru, his cheeks turning red. The remains of the tears are visible on his eyelashes, long and gorgeous like the rest of him. “I—”

“I used to feel bad about it. About thinking about you that way,” Hajime whispers, cutting him off. He can see that Tōru’s on the brink of crying again and Hajime doesn’t want to be the reason for his tears. “I’d imagine some of the most innocent things, like holding hands on the way back from school, or you leaning on my shoulder while watching a movie. 

“Sometimes it was indecent. I used to touch myself, imagining it was you. I would listen to you when you practiced and imagined your sighs and gasps of breath in a different context. 

“Do you remember when we were in our second year and you spilt juice on yourself while you were having dinner over at my house? I lent you one of my shirts and when you slept over that night I imagined you were wearing my clothes after we had just had sex.” 

Hajime can hear Tōru in his mind teasing him—“so dirty, Iwa-chan!”— but this Tōru doesn’t do anything, underneath his fingers his head leans back and he looks like a mess, a puddle of himself. 

Hajime lifts his hands to Tōru’s shirt and fingers the hem of it.

Almost instantly, Tōru freezes. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t recoil, but it’s obvious he’s uncomfortable.

“Do you know what your body did to me? _Still_ does to me?” asks Hajime in a low voice, whispering into Tōru’s ear. He pushes his shirt up slightly and notices the way Tōru sucks in a breath. He can’t think he’s fat, can he? Hajime presses a kiss to his stomach. He doesn’t pull the shirt over Tōru’s head, keeps it bunched up, and explores the valley of pale skin. “Do you know how hard it was for me to be in the locker room? I remember at training camp you jerked off in the shower once. I wanted to join you. Wanted to feel you against me.” 

“I was thinking about you,” says Tōru softly. 

Hajime looks up at him and finds his voice caught in his throat. “What?”

“Every time,” says Tōru. “I … it was always you.” Tōru’s eyes follow Hajime’s arm to his stomach and slowly, he breathes out again. “I would think about you all the time. Still do.”

Hajime kisses him then, square on the mouth and swallows Tōru’s gasp with his own. 

He loves his taste.

Tōru holds onto Hajime by his shoulders. He’s still fairly curled in, but he’s pulling him closer. One hand is now on the slope of his neck, the other on his cheek, he’s tilting his head and he tastes so amazing.

When they separate to breathe, Hajime whispers, “She had your name.”

“What?”

“My girlfriend. Her name was Tohru.” 

It feels so good to say it and get it off his chest.

Tōru stares at him, speechless. “She …”

Hajime is sure he’s turning red. “Yeah.”

A pause.

“Mine was a lesbian.”

Hajime blinks. Okay. Not what he was expecting. “I thought—”

“It was a cover,” says Tōru. “I just knew that I started to look strange, captain, third year, decent looking without a girlfriend? That’s just too weird and she needed to convince her parents she was straight, so we just kinda … fell into place. I couldn’t do it anymore after three weeks though.”

Hajime rests his head against Tōru’s shoulder. “Shittykawa … you put me through _hell_.”

Tōru gives him a small smile and now Hajime feels like crying and he’s not sure if it’s because of miscommunication and wasted years or if it’s because he’s just so fucking glad that she didn’t mean a thing to him.  “Sorry,—”

“Don't apologize,” says Hajime softly. “It’s over now.” He kisses him gently and they both sink into the mattress. Their eyes meet, green to caramel brown and he’s asking him silently for permission. Tōru nods slightly and then Hajime’s fingers are slowly unbuttoning his shirt again. He’s careful to watch the other man’s reactions, watches as he resists the urge to curl into himself, sees how he bites his lip as if to try and keep his voice in. Why, he doesn’t know why.

“Tōru … have you ever done this before?”

“Yeah …” Tōru turns red and looks away from him. “I wasn’t … it was bad.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do!” 

Hajime’s eyes widen at the sudden rise in volume.

Tōru shakes his head and he’s crying again, but to be honest, Hajime isn’t a hundred percent sure if the tears ever truly stopped. “It’s important to me … and I fucked up. I _always_ fuck up.”

Hajime lets him cry, silent, kissing him gently all the while, feeling his body tremor underneath his fingers, underneath his lips and waits until Tōru calms down.

“I … I wanted it to be you,” says Tōru, “I wasn’t thinking … I was drunk and upset and I just …” He shakes his head. “I just wanted you _so_ _badly_ …”

“You have me right now,” says Hajime, pulling Tōru’s hand away from his face. “You’ll have me for as long as you want.” He takes Tōru’s hand in his and spins the thin golden ring around his finger and grins. “Remember?”

“I’m sorry, I’m messing this up—”

“No, you’re not.” Hajime kisses him gently and pulls away. “We’re going to do this however you want, same way we do everything. Together, in sync and connected.” He grins. “Do you want me to—”

“No,” Tōru cuts him off. “I want it. I want you to make love to me, Hajime.”

Hajime’s lying if he says he doesn’t turn red at that.

“Asskawa, don’t say such embarrassing things.”

Tōru smiles and tugs at Hajime’s belt. “I think you’re a little over-dressed.” 

It takes Hajime’s breath away, the way Tōru looks at his body. The setter takes off his former co-captain’s shirt slowly. It gets caught in Hajime’s hair and they both let out a light chuckle. 

“Are you nervous?”

“You always make me nervous.”

The usually steady setter’s fingers are trembling as they unbuckle Hajime’s belt. He tugs harshly, presumably to make the belt slip out quickly and easily, but it gets caught and Hajime teeters forward from the sudden imbalance of weight. He holds out his arms to stop himself from falling on Tōru who is blushing, starting at his cheeks and then disappearing into the collar of his shirt.

“Sorry—”

“What did I say? No apologies,” Hajime kisses him gently. It’s lazy and comfortable and everything he’s ever wanted and he still can’t believe it’s all _his_.

“I uh …. I don’t have any …” Tōru turns red before he can even get the word out and it’s adorable.

“We’ll make it work,” whispers Hajime, kissing him on the forehead.

“I …”

“We’ll take it slow.”

“But—”

“We have all the time in the world.”

Hajime tugs at Tōru’s pants. The brunet turns his head away as Hajime pops the buttons. He slides them down his legs, kissing his thighs as he goes. 

“Do you know how much you made me worry?” he asks, kissing Tōru’s kneecap. “This pesky knee … It’s caused me so many sleepless nights for you. Watching you fall … you can’t do that to me again.” He lifts his leg up and runs his tongue along his skin, tasting it. The skin’s a bit rough and Tōru hasn’t shaved his legs in a while and yet Hajime treats every patch of skin as though it’s a treasure.

Tōru kicks off his pants the rest of the way, knocking Hajime gently in the chin.

“Shit, I—” Tōru sees the look in Hajime’s eyes and swallows the rest of his apology.

Oikawa Tōru really is beautiful.

“Don’t … don’t stare at me like that. It’s embarrassing.”

But how can he not? 

Hajime drops to his knees, and his hands run over Tōru’s skin, feeling the warmth beneath his fingertips. It’s like electric currents are jamming up his system. His fingers play with the elastic of his boxers. 

“Can I touch you?”

Tōru covers his face with his arm, but he's nodding and it’s adorable.

The ex-ace’s fingers slip underneath the material, taking Tōru into his hand. He starts slow, watching every reaction of his beautiful lover. He’s changed his position so that he’s blocking his mouth with his hand and Hajime can see that he’s biting on his fingers. with his other hand, Hajime reaches out and pulls Tōru’s hand away.

“Have to take care of your hands, Setter.”

Tōru lets out a light chuckle and drops his hand. 

“Let me take care of you.”

He’s slow as he lowers his mouth down and watches, keeping eye contact as Tōru turns redder and redder, biting the inside of his cheek and trying to keep quiet. Hajime wonders how many others got to see him this way, but then he pushes that thought aside because he doesn’t have to worry about any past rivals. Right now Tōru is _his_. And he’s always going to be his. 

“Ah …” Tōru’s hips thrust upwards, but he looks away. Hajime can tell that he’s has never been so embarrassed in his life.

Hajime keeps going, slow and gentle, stroking what can’t fit in his mouth. He holds onto Tōru’s hips with his other hand because he knows that Tōru can’t control himself and he’s having trouble trying not to thrust into Hajime’s mouth. His jaw hurts, but he keeps going because he’s never seen Tōru like this before and even though he knows they have all the time in the world, he wants to memorize this, wants to know it, because it’s never going to be like this again, never going to be a first like this ever again.

He hears Tōru’s whimper, he’s so close and Hajime wants it, he really does want it, he wants to taste him on his tongue after so many years of waiting, so many years of yearning, of never knowing if he could ever experience this, but now they have all the time in the world so Hajime pulls his mouth off and kisses Tōru softly.

“You like that?” he asks gently.

Tōru nods, speechless.

Hajime places his hands on Tōru’s thighs. “How do you want to do this? Do you want me inside you? Or do you want to be inside of me?”

“You’d … you’d let me do that?” He sounds so small.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“But I …” Tōru shakes his head. “I thought—”

“We can do this however you want,” says Hajime. “As many times as you want. So … how do you want us to do it first?”

“You can top.”

There’s something fierce in Tōru’s eyes, like he’s commanding Hajime to do this with him, like he’s captain again and Hajime is his ace and they’re going to do this, no matter what, and it might be a crazy move, but it’ll be amazing.

God, Hajime loves it when he gets like that.

“I …” Tōru blinks and Hajime can tell he’s holding back tears. “I can’t give you my first like … _that_ , but I can give you—”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I want to,” says Tōru. “Is it … Is it disgusting that I want to do it like that with you?”

Hajime shakes his head. 

_Goddammit Tōru, you’re going to make me cry._

“Nothing you could ever do can disgust me.” He kisses him gently and tastes the bitterness of his tears on his lips. Slowly, he pulls away. “We’re doing this your way, okay?”

Tōru nods. He looks like he’s ready to hyperventilate. 

“Look at me,” says Hajime. “Just look straight at me.”

Tōru does and his brown eyes have never looked more beautiful. He holds his face in his hands, feels his smooth skin underneath his fingers and he knows he’s going to cry, but he’s pretty sure it’s just because he’s so happy and he can’t handle it. 

“I’m going to blow your fucking mind.”

“So crude, Iwa-chan,” says Tōru, but he’s smiling through his tears.

He kisses him softly and then goes back down his body. 

Tōru’s eyes widen as he realizes what Hajime plans to do, but he doesn’t stop him when his lips press against his entrance. Rather, he shuts his eyes tightly and reaches out, grasping his hair. It’s not controlling, it’s grounding. Tōru’s legs press together on instinct, but Hajime keeps them apart. His fingers run through the strands, soothing and gentle, lazily. Like he’s finally realized they have all the time in the world.

The sounds he makes … Hajime can barely control himself when he hears them.

Tōru isn’t loud, but that may be because he’s muffling himself. It’s soft gasps and sudden intakes of breath and his fingers in his hair make him crazy. 

When he pulls away, Tōru is staring at him like he can’t believe what’s happening. 

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Tōru breathes. “Better than fine.”

Hajime chuckles.

“I’m going to put one in, okay?”

Tōru nods.

“It’s going to hurt.”

“I can handle it.”

“You’re such a brat, Trashkawa.”

Hajime is careful when he pushes in his finger to the first knuckle. He watches Tōru closely, sees his sudden in-take of breath. He’s clutching the sides of the mattress without much to hold on to because they really didn’t plan this, did they? But Hajime wouldn’t change it for anything. It’s perfect this way. 

“Breathe,” he says gently.

Tōru nods, but he’s shaking. His body is trembling.

“Do you want us to wait? We can stop—”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Hajime chuckles softly. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

It takes a few more seconds, but then Tōru exhales and nods. 

Hajime pushes in a little more and watches each of Tōru’s reactions. His eyes have shut tightly, and he’s frowning. His arousal is waning.

“Does it hurt?”

“A bit. It’s more uncomfortable. It feels … weird.”

“I can—”

“What did I tell you?”

Hajime pushes his finger in all the way and watches the way Tōru’s breathing quickens.

“Kiss me.”

“You’re very demanding,” Hajime teases.

“Shut up and kiss me, Hajime.”

He does.

He strokes him gently as their lips move against each other, and then Tōru is pulling away, giggling. 

“You have stubble, Iwa-chan! It tickles!”

Hajime grins.

He goes in to kiss him again. Tōru’s insides are warm and heated, and he can feel them clenching around his finger, so he pulls it out slowly before pushing it back in. The kiss does nothing to distract the setter. Hajime swallows his gasp, and begins to work his finger inside him slowly. 

“I’m not going to break, Iwa-chan.”

“Idiot, that doesn’t mean I’m going to be aggressive.”

Tōru is about to make a remark, but it gets caught in his throat. A moan escapes him. 

Hajime grins. “Got it.”

Tōru’s eyes are shut tightly and his thighs wrap around Hajime like a cocoon. The ex-ace is sure this man will be the death of him. It’s a death he’ll take in stride.

Tōru’s body is so _hot_ and _tight_ and it’s overwhelming, but he tries to keep his cool because it’s their first time together and Hajime wasn’t even sure if this was ever going to happen. He knows it doesn’t have to be perfect, but he wants it to be as good as it can be because he’s been waiting forever for this moment and he wants Tōru to remember this moment as vividly as Hajime knows he will. He’ll be going to sleep tonight with the image of Tōru laid out on his back for him burned to the back of his eyelids and his soft moans lulling him to dreamland. 

Hajime’s got three fingers in him when Tōru pushes back against him. He frames Hajime’s face with those delicate fingers of his, pulling him closer. “Hajime … I want you,” he gasps, arching into his touch. “In me … I want you inside me …”

Hajime kisses him softly and pulls out his fingers. He wonders if Tōru notices how he’s trembling as he gets out of his pants and searches around his wallet for a condom. 

Tōru looks beautiful spread out on the bed this way, and though it’s cold because there’s no real light in the room or electricity and the box spring of the mattress is not comfortable in the least, it’s perfect. Because it’s _them_ , and Hajime has never known wanting like this before.

When he finally puts the condom on, he pulls Tōru closer, and spreads his legs a little more. The setter is looking at him behind half-lidded eyes, and he’s so _beautiful_ , Hajime forgets to breathe for a moment.

“Nervous?” Tōru asks.

“Don’t make fun of me now—” 

Tōru reaches out and grabs Hajime’s hand in his own. He can feel the tremor. 

“Not making fun,” says the brunet. “Making sure I’m not the only one.”

Hajime doesn’t know how it’s possible, but he falls in love just a little bit more with the man in front of him.

“It’s going to hurt.”

“I know.”

“I … you can tell me to stop if it hurts too much.”

“I know.”

“You _have_ to tell me if it hurts,” Hajime says.

“I will.”

“Like when you told me you were fine after you fell from the tree in your backyard when we were ten?”

Tōru laughs. “You’re stalling. I can’t believe you still remember that.”

“I remember everything when it comes to you,” Hajime admits. “Don’t think you’re cool just cause it hurts and you tough it out. You better tell me if I hurt you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Liar.”

“Iwa-chan will take care of me.”

He pushes in slowly, watching Tōru’s reactions carefully. His eyes squeeze tightly, and he’s clenching from the intrusion. Hajime intertwines one of their hands together, and watches. Tōru looks breathtaking like this. He’s breathing harshly, like he’s forgotten how to.

“Okay,” Tōru hisses through his teeth. “Bigger than fingers.”

Hajime can’t help it. He laughs. Tōru joins him, but his is more nervous. “Want me to wait?”

Tōru nods. His grip is deadly, like he’s trying to crush all the bones in Hajime’s fingers. Hajime doesn’t mind. He loves the setter’s hands. He brings their joined hands together and kisses each knuckle slowly.

“Come on, Captain. You got this.”

Tōru’s eyes open, so warm, so full of love. “Not without the vice.” His breathing has evened out, and his grip loosens. “Okay. You can continue.”

Hajime is slow as he pushes in more, tries to keep himself from losing it, because Tōru is so tight and hot around him and it’s all _he’s ever wanted_ but he needs to be patient because Tōru deserves to be loved and cared for like he’s a prince. 

Tōru’s teeth start grinding together, and Hajime stops. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Don’t pull out,” and there’s a hint of fear in his voice, as though he’s certain Hajime will stop.

“I wasn’t going to,” Hajime says. “There’s still some more to go, but we can stop here.”

“How much more?”

“A bit.”

“A bit. That’s useful.” Tōru’s flushed, his entire chest is a beautiful rose colour and his hair is falling into his eyes and Hajime’s heart forgets how to beat. “Hit it till it breaks. Isn’t that what I always say?”

“You want me to break your ass?”

Tōru laughs. “Maybe another time.” He takes his free arm and wraps it behind Hajime’s neck, pulling him closer. “This is good, for now.”

He can feel his breath on his face and he closes the distance as he pulls back, and then forward again. Tōru gasps, his arm tightening it’s hold.

“Careful,” Hajime teases, “don’t choke me just yet. We’ll save that for another day.”

Tōru blushes. 

Hajime starts to kiss him, his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his eyelids. He leaves his mouth alone so he can hear the quiet, almost cut-off sounds he makes. It’s wonderful, to hear him like this, to know _he’s_ the reason he’s like this.

Tōru pulls on him though, guiding him by the hair on the nape of his neck and pulls his lips down to his.

“Don’t tease me, Iwa-chan.”

Their bodies rock against each other and he’s hyperaware of everywhere their skin touch. These kisses are lazy, lips sliding against each other, just the sensation of the other’s skin enough to drive both crazy. He swallows the moans as they come out of his the man beneath him, let his fingers play with the hair he’s dreamed of.

“Hajime … Hajime I’m …” The words are caught in his throat, but Hajime gets it and he starts to move a little faster.

Their mouths are just hanging open now, sliding against each other and he can’t call it kissing but it still sets his veins on fire. He’s close, he can barely breathe, his sense are over-ridden by _Tōru_ and he can’t think straight. 

And then he’s over the edge and he forces his eyes to stay open because he has to see the look on that man’s face when he comes undone, has to etch it into his memory because he’s been wanting it since before he fully understood what he wanted.

When it’s over, they lay on the mattress, cold as all hell, Hajime wearing a stupid grin.

Tōru curls into him for warmth. He looks younger somehow.

Hajime brushes the hair away from his face, and sees the beginning of a grey hair.

Grey hair is a sign of good luck, it’s what his mother’s always told him.

He knows better than to think this is the last time Tōru will be unsure of himself and his appearance, but Hajime doesn’t mind. 

Oikawa Tōru has always been breathtaking to Iwaizumi Hajime.

He has his whole life to prove it to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me on my [Tumblr](https://setkia.tumblr.com/)!  
> Or e-mail me setkia.writer@gmail.com!  
> I love talking to readers, seriously! Aside from time differences causing a delay, I'll always reply!


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